Tinder Heart
by DanyaKat
Summary: In a time of war is there time for love? In a time of betrayal is there time for trust? Set behind the scenes of HBP and DH. HG/SS.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! Thank you for clicking on my story! I hate long A/N's so just a couple of things-I'm making this story as close to the books as possible, but it's still gonna be pretty AU. Also, I'm American, but trying to make this story as "British" as possible. I'm looking everywhere I can, but if I misuse a word, and ya catch me on it, please let me know. **

**I'm sure it goes without saying that I do not own anything to do with Harry Potter, but I must put it down. **

**And last but not least, many thanks to my beta, spirit sister and partner in crime for editing and squealing at what I hoped were funny parts. Love ya Jo!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Tinder Heart**

**Chapter One**

Hermione Granger regarded herself in her mirror for a long moment, surveying her body. In recent weeks, she had watched herself change. A late bloomer in all other ways, she supposed she shouldn't have worried when Lavender Brown flaunted her breasts and hips at the start of last year for everyone in the dormitory to see. But Parvati had been changing too, not developing in a mere summer as Lavender had, but steadily since the end of Second year. Now she resembled more a woman than the child she still sort-of was. Like Lavender, Hermione had seemed to blossomed over summer. Her body had gone from almost boyish and rail-thin to curvy and feminine. Joining her mother—who was into fitness in the extreme—twice a week at her gym and riding her bicycle around her neighborhood to the library each day had created strong muscles; they complimented her recently-plumped thighs, hips, and bottom. She turned to the side, eyeing her stomach. Pleased with the way it no longer sunk in as before, but lay firm and barely convex with muscles that had to be felt more than seen. Her breasts, she felt, hadn't grown to match the rest of her figure, but she knew that hormones were tricky things. They would grow into the rest of her body. Eventually. She hoped.

The one thing she truly didn't like about the changes was that growing from a size two to a size eight in just over a summer would beckon stretch marks on anyone, no matter if it was puberty or not. She planned on seeing if Madame Pomfrey could do anything about those, but hadn't been able to get up to the hospital wing yet. Sixth year was proving much more difficult and time-consuming than any of the years before.

Realizing that she better get down to breakfast, Hermione pulled on her Hogwarts uniform quickly. She stepped out of the shower stall and found Lavender, naked as the day she was born, using her wand on her hair and taking up most of the sink space with her makeup. Hair still wet from the shower, Hermione simply threw it up into an elastic, not bothering to brush it into place, knowing it would only frizz out of control again in an hour anyway.

"Morning, 'Mione."

"Hello, Lavender. Sleep well?"

"Well enough. You? I didn't hear you come in last night."

"I came in around one. I fell asleep by the fire reading." Hermione found it very difficult to keep her eyes off of Lavender and her lack of modesty. She felt the urge to compare how their bodies had changed, how they were the same or different. With clothes on, Hermione knew that Lavender was just a bit taller, and had more of a childlike face than her own angular one. She also took pride in her hair being done and paint on her face, unlike Hermione.

It wasn't as though Hermione was jealous of Lavender or thought she was ugly. A bit insecure, perhaps, but her pride never lay with her appearance, and so it didn't truly matter to her until recently. However, standing next to a girl who obviously prided herself with her beauty, she couldn't help but wonder how she looked by comparison.

If Lavender caught Hermione's surreptitious glances, she didn't say anything.

"Did you get that paper for Charms done?" Lavender asked.

"Yes, last week. You?"

"Just yesterday morning. I'm having trouble with Wednesday's Potions essay. Could you loan me that book on rare herbs you have?"

"Sure. I'll just leave it on your bed before I head down to breakfast. You coming soon?" Hermione straightened her tie and packed up her bag of toiletries, being sure the toothbrush cap was on nice and tight.

"Once I get my hair done. It's being impossible this morning," she chuckled.

Hermione looked at the other girl's hair. It seemed perfectly fine to her, but what did she know about it, after all?

With a wave, Hermione left the bathroom. She pulled the book out of her trunk and set it on Lavender's bed, along with another one she thought might be helpful. Folding her cloak over her arm, she left the dormitory.

The Great Hall's skies were bright and sunny, if a bit cloudy. Ron and Harry were already seated at Gryffindor table. Ron's plate was packed with sausages and toast, a large mound of strawberries on a smaller plate to the side. Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend's ever-present appetite and took a seat across from the two, putting eggs on her own plate.

"Morning," she said brightly.

"Morning," the boys responded, sounding tired. Hermione noticed how Ron's eyes strayed to her breasts for a split second before he took a large guzzle of milk and started in on his sausage again without even properly swallowing. She tugged her vest looser in front of herself and hunched down, hiding them, before taking a bite.

"What've we got today?" Harry asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes—it was her busiest day of the week. "Um…Charms first, with Ravenclaw. Then Herbology with Hufflepuff after break. Then I have Arithmancy before lunch—"

"We have a free period," Ron interrupted.

Hermione nodded and continued. "After lunch we have a free period, and then Potions with the Slytherins. Didn't you write this down?" She asked, slightly exasperated.

"No," Ron scoffed.

"I did, but I forgot it upstairs in my History book." Harry cut his eyes to Ron and gave her an apologetic smile. She rolled her eyes at him.

It was only a week into their Sixth year, and already Ron's laziness was getting on Hermione's nerves. She sighed at her friend, still stuffing his face, and turned her head up to the High Table. Hagrid caught her eye and winked; Hermione smiled and gave a small wave back. McGonagall and Flitwick were chatting with cheerful smiles, Professor Sprout listening in and laughing heartily in-between bites. Hermione was a bit taken aback to see such a relaxed look on Professor McGonagall's face, the expression was quite the opposite of her customary stern expression. She moved her gaze along the table, stopping up short when she realized that Professor Snape was staring straight back at her. Their eyes caught for a moment. She saw that his face was still impassive as ever, but his eyes glittered with perception and knowing, and perhaps some general contempt.

He raised an eyebrow at her with a sneer and Hermione lowered her face down to the table, blushing brightly, glad that she didn't have Defense Against the Dark Arts until the next morning.

* * *

Hermione trudged up to Gryffindor Tower, in-between Harry and Ron as usual. She was nearly dead on her feet, but knew that she had hours of work to do before bed.

"Harry, you up for a game of chess?" Ron asked.

He yawned loudly, "Just a quick one, then. I've got loads of homework."

Hermione sighed loudly. "You should really do your homework first," she said.

"'Mione," Ron whined, "If I don't get my brain off school for a bit, I'm going to go mad!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at the hated nickname, but otherwise ignored Ron. She knew by now that to press the issue would be useless.

"Well I've got homework in every class myself, and—Mellitus—" the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open, and the three stepped in. "—and I've got to get to work." She ran upstairs to her dormitory and washed her face and changed into a pair of denims and a heavy University sweatshirt that she had snitched from her father's drawer the day before school started. She dumped her books onto her bed, gathered what she needed, and went back down to the Common Room.

After reading the same page three times and still not understanding what it said, she knew it was useless. The room was deafening with the noise of students unwinding; between the detonations of the Weasley twins' newest prototypes going off, Seamus trying out new spells to make the fireplace change colors (consequently setting flame to an armchair Dean was sitting in), and enchanted paper airplanes bumping into her, Hermione couldn't make herself concentrate. Quietness in the Common Room wasn't enforced until after dinner, but she needed to be able to study _now_. She could have gone to the library, she supposed, but Ron and Harry would follow her, no matter how much she threatened to hex them—they knew she never would.

Ginny came to sit next to Hermione, Crookshanks in her arms, purring contentedly. Hermione snapped her book shut and turned to give her friend a half-hearted smile.

"Hey, Ginny. How was your day?"

Ginny laughed. "Better than yours, I reckon. You look so angry."

Hermione rested her head in her hands, rubbing her eyes with the heels of them. "Just frustrated. I'm taking such a large course-load this year, I have to spend all my free time with homework or studying. Not that I mind, I just wish I could focus properly."

Ginny peered over to the mound of books on the end-table next to them and winced. "Better you than me. Why not go to the Room of Requirement?" She suggested.

Hermione gasped. "Why didn't I think of that? Ginny, you're a genius. It'll be even quieter than the library. Could you distract your brother and Harry for me? They'll follow me otherwise."

"Sure thing. Oi!" She stood up and started stalking to where Ron and Harry sat at a chess table. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?" Ron yelled back.

"Don't play smart with me, you're not that good an actor. Now give it back!"

Hermione had to hand it to her, Ginny was very good. As her friend cuffed her brother round the head, Hermione gathered her things and Accio'd her schoolbag down; she stuffed her books and parchment into the bag, threaded her quill behind her ear, and hurried out the portrait-hole.

Looking at her watch, she figured she had about two hours before dinner, and then another four before curfew. That should be plenty of time for what she needed, plus some extra to get started on a thesis for Arithmancy due around Halloween. She hurriedly made her way to the Room of Requirement, passed in front of it three times, and slipped inside the door. What lay in front of her was astounding.

It was a cozy, circular room, filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves around the walls. There were no windows, but a raging hearth straight across from the door lit most of the room. In front of the fireplace sat a long couch upholstered in dark leather. Pressed against the back of it stood a desk, complete with a work lamp and a large pot of ink. Underneath both couch and desk was an ornate rug, covering most of the stone floor.

Excited, Hermione lay her cloak on the back of the chair at the desk and set her bookbag next to the work lamp. She perused the shelves, pulling out any book that seemed useful, or struck her fancy.

Once satisfied with her selections, Hermione sat at the desk with an open book on Charms for protection, dipped her quill into the ink-well, and began to write.

It seemed like only minutes had passed when Hermione finished the first draft of her paper, but when she looked at her watch, she saw that she had missed dinner.

"Damn," she muttered. She only then realized how hungry she was, and considered running to the kitchens.

As though on cue, Dobby appeared with his little _pop_ and smiled up at Hermione.

"Miss Granger! How delighted Dobby is to see Miss Granger!" He wore the tea-towel uniform all of the Hogwarts elves wore, in addition to mismatched neon polka-dot socks, a hand-knit blue sweater with a bright orange D on it (that looked very familiar, Hermione thought), and his customary hats perched precariously between his large ears.

Hermione smiled at the sight of her little friend. "Hello, Dobby. How are you?"

"Dobby is well, Miss, thanks. Dobby is very happy to still be at Hogwarts."

"Dumbledore still treating you well?" She asked, motioning for him to sit on the couch next to her.

"Professor Dumbledore always treats Dobby with kindness. Professor Dumbledore raised Dobby's wage to _two_ Galleons per week!" He looked so proud of himself, Hermione could only smile.

"Well good for you, Dobby. But why are you here in the Room of Requirement? I didn't call you. Not that I'm not glad to see you," she added quickly.

"The Room called Dobby, Miss."

"The-the Room did?" Hermione asked, astonished. "I suppose that makes sense. The Room adapts to what the inhabitants need. I was just planning on running down to the kitchens, since I missed dinner, but didn't want to leave here just yet. Clever."

"Yes, Miss. Dobby received a summons from the Room of Requirement, but he didn't know who was in it. Dobby is glad it was Miss Granger." He smiled up at Hermione, swaying slightly as he always did. "What can Dobby get for Miss Granger?" he asked. "There is still food from dinner tonight, a very delicious soup was served. Or Dobby can prepare something else for Miss?"

Hermione waved her hand, "No, no, Dobby, I can go down to the kitchens and get something myself, there's no need to make a fuss over me," she said.

"Begging your pardon, Miss, but the other house-elves would be very upset if Miss Granger were to do that. House-elves prides ourselves in ours work, Miss." Dobby wrung the hem of his sweater in his knobbly hands, looking a bit nervous.

Hermione considered for a short moment longer, before conceding. "All right. Um—I suppose just some leftovers from dinner tonight would be great, Dobby. And some water, perhaps?"

Dobby beamed, "Coming up, Miss!" He snapped his fingers and disappeared. Hermione had barely packed up the draft she had written in a book when he returned, a covered silver tray in his hands. He set it on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Does Miss Granger require anything else of Dobby right now?"

"No, Dobby. Thank you so much."

"My pleasure Miss!" And with a last snap off his fingers, he was gone.

Hermione sat down and lifted the domed cover off the tray. A bowl of tomato bisque sat steaming, along with a plate holding a few pieces of ham and a salad with strawberries and Mandarin oranges. On a smaller plate to the side lay a generous slab of chocolate cake. Next to that, wrapped up, were two more slices of the cake, labeled "Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley" in a child-like scrawl.

Smiling at Dobby's thoughtfulness, Hermione picked up a spoon and tucked in.

When the last crumb of her cake was gone (and her sweet-tooth finally nullified) Hermione checked her watch again. Deciding she had some time to just read, she grabbed a book on the history of wizarding Africa and sat on the couch with one leg draped over the back and the other bent at the knee.

When her watch read only fifteen minutes to curfew, Hermione packed her things and left the Room of Requirement, already looking forward to the next day when she could return.

Hermione was so focused on what other homework she had that she wanted to get done first that she didn't hear the footsteps coming around the corner. She bumped into something solid as she rounded the corner and fell back into the hallway, bookbag spilling out beside her. Without looking up, she began to gather her things, mumbling, "I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention, I'm so sorry!"

"Miss Granger, why are you skulking around at this hour?"

The familiar voice washed over her like an ice bath, and Hermione cursed internally.

"I—I was studying and was just returning to Gryffindor Common Room now, Sir." Hermione packed the last stray paper away in her bag and stood, slinging it over her shoulder as she did.

"Cutting it a bit close, aren't you?" Professor Snape asked. Even with her head still bent nervously, looking straight at Professor Snape's perfectly polished black boots, she could tell he had a sneer on his face.

"I know, Professor, I apologize. I lost track of time."

"Five points from Gryffindor for your lack of attention to your surroundings, Miss Granger. You have only six minutes to get to your House. I suggest you hurry before you get more points deducted."

Hermione bit her tongue against an indignant remark. It wasn't past curfew yet, he couldn't take points! Still, she nodded, apologized again quietly, and scurried down the hall. She had only gotten a few steps along when her name was called out. She turned slowly.

"Miss Granger. Next time I see you, you would do well to keep your eyes off the floor. Timidity is not a quality I desire in my midst. Understood?"

Hermione's eyes flashed to his for a brief second. As she met his dark gaze, her stomach flopped. Not for the first time, Hermione wondered how they could be so black. She nodded with another, "Yes, Sir," and turned again, heading for the Common Room.

* * *

"You were in late last night, 'Mione," Ron said around a mouth full of food the next morning. "Didn't even get to talk to you, you just went to bed. And you didn't meet us in the tower this morning either," he complained.

Hermione nodded, still half-awake. She had snuck in as surreptitiously as possible after her run-in with Snape and headed straight to bed, pretending not to hear Harry and Ron above the din of Gryffindor tower. "I was studying," she said simply. "And I slept late this morning on accident," she admitted. She had woken an hour past when she usually did, and had to rush desperately through her morning routine. Her hair was ratty without her shower, and so hung from a fraying braid down her back; her stockings were loose around her ankles and her tie un-done. As she bent in to take a bite of egg, one end of it dipped into her coffee. "Damn!" she exclaimed. Hermione grabbed her napkin and tried to clean off the tie to no effect.

"Now I'll have to go get another one before class," she moaned.

Harry raised an eyebrow, secretly enjoying his friend's distress. "Hermione—witch, remember?" His laughter was barely concealed as he spoke.

Hermione rolled her eyes at herself, pointed her wand at her tie, and muttered a couple of spells, raising her head with a clean, neatly-folded tie. "Merlin's sake, it's like I'm a first-year again. Thank you, Harry."

He nodded his head and finished his last bite of breakfast. He brushed his hands on his trousers—Hermione nearly winced—and stood, grabbing his bag. "We'd better get going. Got Defense first, and Circe help us if we're late."

Ron crammed a final rasher into his mouth and stood, issuing a belch that stung Hermione's nostrils.

"Why do I put up with you, Ron?"

He shrugged. "Saved you from a troll. You're forever in my debt."

Hermione felt the corners of her mouth turn up in spite of herself. "How could I have forgotten?" She placed a few pieces of toast on a napkin to eat on the run and stood, straightening her socks as she lifted her legs from the bench.

When the trio arrived at the Defense room, they took their customary desks in the back of the room. Hermione took out her homework and began to read over it a final time.

The door behind them banged shut, and Snape billowed past as was his custom. Homework papers lifted themselves from desks and book-bags and followed him. Hermione found herself thinking of ducklings and had to suppress a laugh.

Snape turned at the front of the classroom; the papers dropped onto his desk and he counted them. "Parvati Patil," he sneered. "Where is your paper?"

"I—I forgot about it, sir. I didn't get it done."

"Fifteen points, Miss Patil, and a failing grade for today."

Parvati looked like she was going to cry.

"Arse," Ron muttered under his breath.

Hermione couldn't agree with him. _She_ had gotten it done, after all, and she had a much bigger class load than Parvati. Besides, Parvati was notorious for forgetting things and she refused to keep a journal for her assignments, claiming carrying one around was tacky, so it was her own fault. Snape was being reasonable. The only reason it seemed mean was…well, it _was_ Snape.

Class went on, and she and Harry eventually partnered up for more practice in non-verbal spells. She had been practicing, and so easily was able to hit Harry with a Stinging hex and turn his hair bright violet. Once or twice, Hermione thought she felt a tickling in her leg; Harry beamed when she told him.

Snape came breathing down their necks and observed Hermione's easy outstripping of Harry.

"Cease," he said, and turned his attention to Harry. "I believe I demonstrated, last week, that you needed practice in this particular subject, Potter?"

Hermione recalled their first lesson just the week before, and winced. Not only had Harry impulsively shouted out a shield at Snape's hex, but his blurting out whatever was at the top of his head had earned him detention. What could possibly go wrong now?

"Yes, sir, I did practice."

"Then please tell me why you have so far been unable to block your partner's advances."

Harry remained quiet.

"Is the great Harry Potter so weak he cannot defend himself against one girl?"

Hermione bristled. What did being a girl have to do with anything?

Still Harry didn't speak, but Ron piped up stupidly. "You've graded her papers for six years, you should know how good she is at stuff."

Snape raised an eyebrow. " 'Stuff?' Your vocabulary astounds me, Weasley." Then, to Hermione's horror, his contemptuous gaze landed on her. "I'm sure your ego is being fed considerably, Miss Granger."

She shook her head minutely, seeing for the first time that the entire room's attention had been focused on the three of them. She wished more than anything for Harry's invisibility cloak.

"Don't be so modest, after all you are 'good at stuff'. Aren't you basking in the knowledge that you're better than your friend?"

"I—I'm not—" Hermione fell silent under Snape's disdainful stare.

"Come, come, brightest witch in Hogwarts, isn't that what you pride yourself on?" His expression narrowed into a bitter scowl. "Brighter than some teachers, I daresay."

"Sir, I don't believe I know more than any teacher," she said quietly, but firmly. Except for Lockhart, she amended. Even with her idol-worship, she had wondered if she even really learned anything in Defense that year other than that his favorite colour was lilac.

He seemed to think for a moment, before he turned fully to her and backed up a few paces. Hermione felt her stomach sink to her feet. "I tire of teaching students who do not apply themselves _out_ of these four walls. So. A test. _If_ you can block me non-verbally, then the class may be excused early, no homework. If you cannot, a three-foot essay on the importance of preparation due for Friday's class."

"Sir, you're not supposed to—"

"I am the teacher here," He growled. "Steel yourself."

Hermione, still shocked, realized there was nothing for it, and braced her feet. Snape raised his wand and Hermione felt the familiar tingle of magic in the air. She was un-practiced in shielding both her mind and body simultaneously, and so, unsure of which spell he was using, Hermione built the wall in her mind a split second before she felt a force slam into it and repel back.

Snape's brow rose in shock, then creased in further concentration. Hermione felt him attempting to deconstruct her barrier, trying to bring it down, but Hermione had been practicing all last year and this past summer. He would have to do better than that.

The stand-off lasted a full minute before Hermione felt herself tiring. Unwilling to both lose face and set an enormous amount of work for her classmates, Hermione collected the last of her strength and sent her own spell at him, pushing him both out of her mind and physically to the floor.

The room had previously been filled with quiet whispers from the students, betting on who would win. Now it was dead silent.

Snape pulled himself from the floor gracelessly, fuming and disheveled.

"Class dismissed," he growled out. "Except for you, Granger. You will stay and explain yourself."

Hermione sighed and stayed where she was, exhausted but knowing better than to show it. The pupils around her gathered their things and left hurriedly, some shooting Hermione sympathetic glances. When the last person had fled the classroom, Snape flicked his wand at the door and it slammed shut, vibrating the windows with its force. He turned to Hermione.

"Where did you learn to do that?" he ground out.

Remembering their encounter the night before, Hermione refused every impulse to lower her eyes to the ground and instead fixed them on the professor.

"I taught myself. Last year, while you were teaching Harry, and over the summer. This is the first time it's ever been put to the test, however."

Snape blinked in what could only be portrayed as surprise. "You taught yourself? How."

"I read up on Occlumency. I studied theories, I read practical application techniques."She shrugged. "I practiced. Plain and simple."

Snape looked on, studying her. Hermione never lowered her gaze. She really hoped he wouldn't try delving into her mind again; she couldn't have even tried to block him at this point. Snape seemed to notice. "You tire too easily."

"How well could you do it when you were just starting?" Hermione's eyes widened at her nerve and she blushed. "I'm sorry, Professor."

He nodded in thought. "You need someone to teach you better. Your method is effective, but undeveloped. The wall you built in your mind was inadequately layered. Had I gone a few moments longer you would not have lasted."

"I effectively pushed you out, though."

"And you used the last of your strength doing it," he sneered. "Were I to try again right now, you wouldn't be able to keep me out, true?"

Hermione nodded, just a jerk of her chin. "True. I need a tutor, but who would do it? You? Teach the insufferable know-it-all?" She barely kept herself from scoffing.

Snape's lip curled at her. He turned sharply on his heel, stalking to his desk. He started flipping through some papers.

Hermione assumed that was his dismissal of her. She gathered her things into her bag and slung it over her shoulder, stumbling slightly at the weight of it. As she grasped the door handle, Snape spoke.

"Be in my office tomorrow night at eight o'clock. Do not be late."

Hermione turned. Snape was writing on a piece of parchment, not looking at her. "Sir?"

"You heard me. Now get out."

She scurried out the door, shutting it quietly behind her. She knew she had Transfiguration soon, but the Occlumency had taken every last bit of energy out of her. Hermione decided to go to her room and shower, and get the notes from Harry and Ron after dinner.

As she undressed in the shower stall and placed a shield around her clothes so they wouldn't get wet, Hermione found an owl feather from the inside of her robes, right where she thought she had felt the tickling in Defense class.

She resolved not to tell Harry.

* * *

**Reviews keep me going! Hope to see you next time!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you everyone who reviewed! In response to a couple questions, no this story is not finished. I have it all outlined on paper, but it's not written out. And no, this is not my first fanfiction. Look on my profile for more details :)**

**Sorry it took so long. Computers around my house have been dying like houseplants. I'm using my sister's right now. **

**Thanks for reading! Thank you to Jo for all the help-this chapter needed it! Writing from Snape's pov is hard. **

**I don't own Harry Potter. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Tinder Heart, Chapter Two

Snape's POV

What the hell had possessed him to do that? What had started off as any other lesson had turned into him losing face in front of all his students.

Snape put his head in his hands, scrubbing his face with his calloused fingers.

How had Granger been able to _do_ that? It had taken him years practicing with Dumbledore to be able to physically push the old man out of his head, and it had taken Granger all of a year with no actual practice to go up against? That just simply didn't happen. Until now.

He remembered her wall. It had felt…invisible? But sturdy. He could just sense the things behind it, but couldn't reach. Like looking through very sturdy glass. It was infuriating. And just when Granger had started to grow weak, he felt the surge of power drawn up and found himself flat on his arse, looking up at his students.

He frowned, recalling the humiliation.

Then, shocking him almost as much as the Occlumency, had been hearing himself offer to teach the little chit. He did not want to ponder the motives behind his offer.

Severus stopped his frantic pacing in front of the fireplace and cast _tempus_. She would be arriving any minute. He picked his robes up from the back of his couch and put them on over his clothes.

A quiet knock came at his door just then.

"Enter," he called, moving to the desk and pretending to be occupied with a manuscript on it.

The door opened and shut almost silently, and small footsteps followed, landing just in front of him.

"Good evening, professor."

"Miss Granger," he replied in way of greeting. He put the paper down and looked up at her. She stood awkwardly in her tidy school robes, prefect badge perfectly in place. In fact, the only thing unkempt about Granger was her hair, and that was never going to be neat, he figured.

Not willing to seem taken aback by her, he quickly waved his wand and the furniture moved to the edges of his office.

"Before we begin, I would like to know why you are so interested in Occlumency."

She took a deep breath. "Well, it started out studying to help Harry when you were teaching him last year. After I had studied for a while, I decided it would be a good idea to try it out myself. It was difficult, especially not knowing if I was doing it effectively—I didn't have anyone to help practice—but I eventually got the hang of it."

Snape considered this for a moment before speaking again. "Occlumency is a very difficult thing to master. I will admit that it took me much longer than you to get to the level you are currently at, and I was taught by Dumbledore. Now that I surpass him, I consider it an oddity indeed that you became so proficient on your own."

She remained standing quietly, the only sign of her nervousness the subtle tapping of her fingers on her thigh.

"I do not wish to waste my time teaching a little girl the difficult art of Occlumency. However…seeing as you proved yourself more than competent at it, I cannot ignore my instinct that you could be a protégé in the subject."

She looked stunned at the almost-compliment. "Um. Thank you?"

"Do not thank me. I merely wish to win this war, and seeing as Potter is about as skilled as a fruit fly in this particular branch of magic, it would do well that another member of the Golden Trio learn it. Do not disappoint me.

"Now. How much do you know, exactly?"

"Um. Well, I know the basics of building a wall. I don't know that much for keeping my strength while holding it, and I'm not sure how strong it is. I don't know how to go into someone else's mind—I haven't wanted to invade someone like that."

Snape paced to the opposite end of the carpet from Granger, beckoning her closer and stopping her about four feet in front of him. She seemed nervous being so close to him. "We will work first on your resilience. I want you to focus on going for as long as you can. Do not worry about the strength of your wall—we will work on that later. Focus on endurance. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Snape locked eyes with Granger, who took a deep breath to relax her body, then spoke the spell. He immediately met her wall again, but it was softer this time. He tried to deconstruct it gently, not really putting any feeling into it. She held it for about three minutes before he felt her tire. He began to prod a bit stronger now, and just when he thought he had her, he felt her surge of power as before and once again found himself on the ground.

Eye contact broken, Granger came out of the daze quickly. She seemed shocked as she looked at Snape below her and stretched a hand out to him, muttering apologies. He testily waved her hand away, getting up on his own with a scowl on his face.

"I did not tell you to push me out, stupid girl."

"I didn't mean to! I don't even know how I do it. It's like an automatic reaction when I tire."

"You must learn to control it. Again."

Granger nodded and braced herself, and a moment later Snape found himself trying to break through.

Nearly an hour later, and finding himself four times flat on his backside, Snape grumpily replaced his furniture and offered Granger a chair. He may be an arse, but he knew how to act around women, even if they _were_ as obnoxious as her.

"I'm sorry, professor. I really don't know how I do that."

He waved away her apologies as before and sat thinking for a moment before speaking. "I would like for you to practice this. Each night, clear your mind completely. Work on your endurance rather than strength. You made it to nearly five minutes that last time." He cast _tempus_ again. "Come here again on Friday at the same time."

Granger took this as her dismissal and nodded as she stood. "Thank you for taking time for this, professor Snape. I know your time is valuable and you find me annoying. Occlumency is a very fascinating branch to me, and I've wanted to expand my skills in it. I promise to work my hardest. So—yes. Thank you. Good night." She slipped out of the door as quietly as she had come in it.

Snape stared at the door for a few moments before standing and going to his desk. He tried to review his next day's lesson plan but found himself distracted, trying to figure out the puzzle that was Hermione Granger's mind. Every time—every damned time he tried to push past her wall, she blasted him out on instinct, not knowing how _not_ to.

Finally, after he finished preparing for the next day, he retired to bed, increasingly angry that Granger was still on his mind.

Snape skipped breakfast in the hall the next morning, opting to toast himself some bread in his kitchenette rather than face thousands of idiots he couldn't stand anyway. He didn't think he could take Slughorn's aggravating voice or blatant flirting with McGonagall any longer. Snape knew she wouldn't stand it much longer before hexing his bollocks off either; Minerva didn't like men flirting with her. Despite his general contempt for the human race and her relentless severity, the two had become good companions, often intruding in on the other at the most inopportune times to unload and, more often than not, down one or two bottles of firewhisky together. In their drunken conversations, they had unloaded their buried secrets. Snape confided to her the truth about Lily Evans, and in turn, Minerva vented; Snape gained the privilege of a drunken, angry, crying woman. It had been quite the learning experience.

Fuming, she had shared more than he wanted to know. Turns out she had been in love with a muggle man. The night he proposed, she told him she was a witch; after he retreated in disgust, she had to track him down and obliviate him. She had been only nineteen. Minerva had never quite gotten over the betrayal, and spent her life alone and unwillingly in love with him. Since then she nearly viciously rebuffed any advances; the more persistent men found themselves in St. Mungo's. Snape knew that the only reason Slughorn had not yet seen Poppy Pomfrey was because he was a colleague. But his thin ice was about to break.

And Merlin, it was only Wednesday.

Snape ate his pitiful breakfast and made his way to the Defense classroom. Draco Malfoy was waiting inside, leaning on the front desk, arms and ankles crossed. Immediately on his guard, Snape cast silencing and locking spells on the door.

"What do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Draco?" he asked. The derision in his voice was not lost on Malfoy.

"I wanted to talk to you. About my mission."

Mission. As if. The Dark Lord knew full well that a sixteen-year old boy was incapable of such a 'mission'. If anything it was a suicide mission. Dumbledore outstripped the boy in magic alone, foolishness and cowardice aside.

"I gathered as much. What in particular do you want to discuss?" Snape came behind his desk and sat stiffly in his crisp suit, refraining from pulling at his neck. Damn, but he hated cravats.

"I was under the impression you were going to help me."

Snape refrained from rolling his eyes. " 'Help' is not the same as 'do for'. You must come up with some of the possibilities yourself."

"Well, I did have a couple in mind," he said hesitantly.

Snape sighed and said, "go on," after a considerable amount of silence from Draco.

"Well…the summer before my second year, Father and I were in Borgin and Burkes. He was selling some items and I was looking around. There was a necklace. It was cursed. I'm not sure how, but I could check it out. It's a start, at least."

Snape knew which necklace Malfoy was talking about; after all, he had been with Bellatrix Lestrange when she sold it to them during a rash of particularly nasty raids from the Ministry. It would serve well to murder someone as strong as even Dumbledore. But how to get it here?

He nodded, fingers steeped under his chin, a habit no doubt picked up from the old man himself.

"Perhaps," he said. "Do some thinking on it, Draco, and come back to me when you have some semblance of a plan formed. Now, I know you have Transfiguration now and I have a class of first-years to babysit, so if you don't mind…" Snape waved his wand and the door unlocked, un-silenced, and opened itself. Malfoy nodded tersely at his godfather and strutted out of the room, knocking a Hufflepuff to the ground in a show of dominance.

Snape rather disliked Malfoy at times like that. His first instinct was to help the little girl up, but tamped it down quickly. Sympathy was not a good quality to show if he wanted to keep his hated image; he'd learned that his first year teaching. Children saw any kindness as weakness and trampled all over you if given the opportunity. It was easier to be hated than to be a doormat to children. If he was going to be bullied, he'd be damned if it would be by children. Not that Albus and the rest of the Order were much better.

There had been a time when Severus had a purpose behind being a spy—redemption. Now..now he didn't think redemption was at the end of his journey. He wasn't sure it was even what he wanted anymore. He didn't know what he wanted now—redemption, the end of the war, a peaceful mind, even death would be better than this, being used like a pawn in a life-sized game of chess. He was a pawn, always a pawn. Of Dumbledore, who fancied himself the queen's position. Always protecting the king, Potter. Then a pawn of The Dark Lord, both prodigy and suspect for being in Dumbledore's pocket. He enjoyed playing with his food before eating it—praising Severus for valuable information then throwing him to the Death Eaters to do what they wanted with.

Severus used to wish for peace, for the war to be done with and his debt to Lily and the rest of the Wizarding world paid. Those naïve desires had been replaced with the harsh reality that if he simply lived through the fight, he would have defeated all odds. He was beyond the point of wanting, simply knowing that he wouldn't live to enjoy it.

Snape shook his head, clearing it of the useless wanderings of his mind. He had a class of children to deal with and he needed every ounce of alertness to keep from strangling the little bastards.

* * *

That evening, Snape stood rigidly, stroking Fawkes in Dumbledore's office. He was small at the moment, barely six inches high with fluffy down. The bird leant down to Snape's wrist and squeezed out a single tear onto it. Snape watched as the burn he had gotten from a potion that morning healed. He patted the bird in thanks, thinking that Camille wouldn't forgive him for touching another bird any time soon. The last time he had even touched a school owl she hadn't come home for a fortnight. Damn possessive glorified chicken.

The fireplace roared with green flames and Snape stepped from Fawkes as Dumbledore strode gracefully from the grate, waving off soot with his wand. "Good evening, Severus. I trust you are well this evening?"

Snape simply nodded and Dumbledore sat behind his desk, not really expecting anything else.

"I won't keep you long tonight, Severus. I only wish to know if you have had any luck with Draco."

"A letter wouldn't have sufficed?" Snape's voice was hard. He had better things to do with his time than waste it here.

"Humor an old man, Severus."

Snape refrained from rolling his eyes like a teenager, "he came to me this afternoon. He thinks he has a way to complete his task, but he doesn't trust me enough yet to tell me."

"You must make him trust you again, Severus."

"I am trying, Albus," Snape said with a sigh. "He speaks with me because his mother wishes him to. He tells me half-truths because his father envies my favor with the Dark Lord. He will trust me again in time."

"Time is not something we have much of, Severus."

"I realize this, Albus, do you believe I do not understand what could happen?" Snape said sharply, his eyes snapping to Dumbledore's withered hand.

"I am not suggesting that you do not understand the importance of this," Dumbledore said in his quiet way.

"I am working on it. If I push him too hard he will only withdraw more. I've known Draco his entire life. Forcing him right now will not be in our benefit."

"Keep in mind to draw it out if you are able. I have much to teach Harry before my time comes."

Snape sighed again, biting back his retort. Instead he simply said, "Is that all, Albus?"

"Not quite. It seems that you have been busy already this year, Severus. Need I inform you not to let your hatred to Harry and his friends get out of hand? You have made it quite obvious that you do not like him, but I need him in clear mind this year."

"What are you talking about Albus? Potter has only received one detention from me this year. So far," he added. He had no intention of making promises.

"I mean Miss Granger."

"She did not have a detention with me." His face very nearly gave away his guilt.

Dumbledore smiled shrewdly, seeing through him. "I heard she bested you in front of your students. And last night she was seen headed down to your office. I do hope you're not retaliating for something you asked for."

"She's studied Occlumency." Dumbledore's brow raised in surprise. He waved for Snape to go on. "When I challenged her, she blocked me with her mind. It was like…it was as though I were looking through glass, at impeccably organized filing cabinets. Then she—she slammed the door and I found myself on the floor. It was humiliating."

"I imagine so." He could barely contain his amusement. "That hardly seems reason to give her a detention. How did she become better than you at Occlumency anyway?"

"She's not better than me. She's been teaching herself for almost a year now. She's impressive, but she needs a lot of training. That's why she was in my office last night. I was teaching her. One of those damned children should be able to help Potter."

Albus ran his fingers through his beard, a mannerism that Snape had come to realize meant the old man knew something he wasn't going to share. "I suppose you are right, my boy. Mind that you aren't cruel to her. You have a tendency to be too aggressive when it comes to her."

Snape's eye twitched, but said nothing. "Is that all?"

With a wave and the charismatic gleam he always seemed to get at the end of their meetings, Dumbledore dismissed Snape. He turned on his heel sharply and billowed out the door and into the main part of the castle.

As he walked down the darkened corridors to his dungeons, a movement caught his eye. He turned in time to catch a flash of familiar brown curls whipping around a corner. Without consciously doing so, Snape changed course and followed the Granger girl. Casting a cushioning charm on his loud boots, he hastened to catch up with her. She disappeared around another corner and just as Snape rounded it, he caught sight of a door closing. The faster he got to it, though, the fainter it became, so that by the time he reached for the handle, he grasped nothing but air, only stone wall before him.

Puzzled, Snape looked around. Glancing out a window at the blackened grounds, he realized that he was on the seventh floor, in front of The Room of Hidden Things. He himself had used it plenty when he was a boy. What business could Granger possibly have here? More plotting of rule-breaking with the Boy Wonder and the ginger? Snape passed the wall thrice, trying for the room Granger -was in, only to find himself face-to-face with a locked door; a sign was posted to it: Quiet please. Studying in Progress.

Studying? Likely, he scoffed. Granger, yes, but Potter and Weasley hadn't studied a day in their pathetic lives. Snape cast _tempus_; it was two hours till curfew. He weighted whether he really wanted to wait in a cold, dark corridor with nothing to do in hopes of catching the three students out of bed after curfew. Then it occurred to him—could this be where Granger was coming from the other night?

Curiosity settled it for him. He leant against the window sill and Summoned a magazine from his office. Snape flicked through it until he found what he was looking for (an article on the possibility for Hag boils curing acne) and settled in for the next hour or so.

Thoroughly bored with his magazine and almost to the point of shivering with cold, Snape decided to call it a night. This was stupid. He'd been out there an hour already and Dumbledore was right—trying to catch Potter doing wrong out of spite was beneath him.

He had no sooner turned to go when he heard a door creaking open. He spun around and saw Granger closing a heavy wooden door behind her, bookbag slung over her shoulder and a pleased look on her face. That look turned to trepidation, however, as she turned and saw her professor waiting there. She gaped, her mouth open like a fish, but said nothing, standing in shock.

Snape sneered. "Well, well. It seems that you have finally been rendered speechless."

Granger shook her head as though to clear it. "G-good evening, Professor. I wasn't expecting to see you here," she said. She shifted from foot to foot, obviously anxious to leave.

Snape used it to his advantage.

"I was simply taking a walk and to my surprise found you appearing out of thin air. I know you weren't behind me before." He feigned knowledge of the secret room, both curious of her answer and anticipating catching her in the midst of a lie.

Instead, she cocked her head quizzically. "I thought all teachers here knew about the Room of Requirement." Her eyes sparked. "In fact, Draco Malfoy knew of it last year when he was part of the Inquisitorial Squad. I always figured he would have told you." Her face searched his in suspicion. "You were just trying to trick me, weren't you, Professor Snape?"

Impressed by her cleverness—and her boldness—Snape raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I was. Very good. I never thought you had it in you to question a teacher. Five points, Miss Granger."

"Is that to, or from Gryffindor?" She asked warily, unsure if it was a back-handed praise.

"To. And congratulations—these are they only points I have ever awarded your house."

Granger's cheeks flushed with the compliment and Snape saw that the colour on her face was pretty. He blinked, thoroughly confused with that train of thought. Granger was not pretty. Granger was annoying. Why were they talking in the first place? He needed to end this conversation.

"Now I suggest that you get to it before I take them back." He turned sharply and left, forgetting that the cushioning charm on his boots were still on.

He didn't see the understanding cross Hermione's face as she noticed, wondering why he would have been following her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Oh good lord, I'm so sorry! The shiteth hath hitteth the faneth. My life has exploded into mass chaos and we're only just now coming down from it all. So sorry it's taken so long to post. But here it is, and it shouldn't take so long for chapter 4 to come up. Thank you for your patience. **

**Thanks to my Josie-O for beta'ing. And no, I do not own Harry Potter. The best I own is a vibrating Elder Wand. **

**Well, no, I don't but that would be cool, wouldn't it?**

**ENJOY!**

**~*~Tinder Heart~*~**

She was three years old, toddling up Tottenham Court Road. Her short brown hair curled up into pigtails and held with purple bows. A pretty lavender dress bounced with every step she took, a thin white cardigan failed to keep the cold out; her feet in black patent leather Mary-Janes. Her chubby fist was clamped around a play programme.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her face was bunched up as she cried and her eyes darted frantically around. "Mummy? Daddy!" She cried harder when no one answered.

No one was expecting a toddler to be underfoot, and so no one noticed her. She was jostled and bumped to the edge of the sidewalk, where a taxi zoomed by and splashed icy slush over her. The baby cried even harder, finally calling attention to some of the passersby. No one stopped to help her.

The scene blackened suddenly and Hermione finally pushed Snape out of her head. She heard his grunt of pain as he hit the floor and she blinked, coming out of it.

"I'm so—"

"If you tell me sorry once more, Granger, I'll fail you this whole year."

Hermione shut up.

She had been practicing controlling her impulse, she _had_ been. She'd even let him continue on and let herself grow tired before she consciously pushed him out. She didn't want him to know what happened next, it was too embarrassing.

Snape dusted off his robes and faced her. "You pushed me out on purpose. Why?"

"I—I didn't want you to see what happened next, Sir."

He nodded. "Good. Progress is being made. I don't appreciate being blasted onto my backside, but you being able to do so consciously, shows improvement."

Hermione nodded. Their time was almost up. Hermione looked forward to crashing into her bed, which was closest to the warm fireplace—it was the only thought that kept her from curling up on one of Snape's cold couches and going to sleep right then. He had drained her completely in this lesson, first going through thought exercises, mind clearing, and the like, then testing where her competency lay in each. She wondered why Harry had never told her of these exercises in Occlumency, or had Professor Snape simply not told him?

He cleared his throat. He always did that when he was trying to gain composure, Hermione noticed. "I believe we can move on to the next step. Take a seat."

Hermione sat as Snape moved the objects back around the office to their original spot. He sat in his chair behind the desk and pulled a book out from a drawer, which he handed to Hermione.

"Read this. It's a practical application manual. Parts can be very stiff and analytical, but it has a few good pointers, especially where I have noted in there."

"Thank you, Sir," she said.

"Where were you?"

Her brow creased. "Hmm?"

"In your memory. Where were you?"

"Oh. Um, I was in London. My parents took me to see Peter Pan and after we left, my Dad went to go get the car. I think I got distracted by something and let go of my Mum's hand and when I turned around I couldn't find either of them. It took a half hour for them to find me."

"Who is Peter Pan?"

She cocked her head. "Really? I guess I forgot, you're pure-blood, you wouldn't know. It's a play. About a boy who lives in Never Never Land, and his friends—well, he listens to this girl, Wendy, tell her brothers stories about him, Peter, that is, and hears how she doesn't want to grow up and leave the nursery for her own room the next day, and so he takes them to where he lives, Never Never Land, and they meet pirates and mermaids and have adventures, and he tries to get them to stay, but they have family in London, so they can't, and then there's this absolutely _huge_ crocodile, and—I'm sorry. I got ahead of myself." She ducked her head and pretended to read the cover of the manual Snape had given her, embarrassed.

He surprised her. "I'm not pure-blood."

She lifted her head. "You're not? I always assumed…"

"Well, you assumed wrong. My father was a muggle. He hated the thought of my mother being a witch."

"But then how could you not know of Peter Pan? It's the most magnificent story."

"My father was very anti-wizarding world, it's true. But at the same time, fairy stories weren't his idea of a valuable way to pass childhood."

"It's too bad." She sighed. "I always loved the story. When Professor Flitwick came with my acceptance letter to Hogwarts, and told me about it, I thought it would be my own sort of Never Never Land. But I guess I grew up all the same. You kind of have to, being friends with Harry. Not that I would change it, I just—I wish the place were real sometimes."

"What does growing up have to do with anything?"

She smiled a wistful smile. "It's what Never Never Land stands for—never, never having to grow up."

"That's a silly notion. Everyone grows up at one point, it's part of life. Entertaining the idea of staying a child forever is useless and cowardly."

Hermione blushed. "Sometimes I wish I could have been a child forever," She whispered. She looked up at the clock above the door and stood. "It's almost curfew. I should go. Thank you for the book, Professor. I'll have it read before our session on Friday." She gathered her things quickly and scampered out the door quietly, feeling like a fool. Why had she gone off like that about some child's story to the most stoic professor in the damned school? She felt like an idiot.

She sighed, exhausted, as she opened the portrait-hole up into the Common Room. Ron and Harry sat in front of the fire, toasting marshmallows on straightened-out wire hangers. They looked up as Hermione entered the room.

"Where the hell have you been?" Ron called at her, before the door had even swung shut completely.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "What does it matter to you?" she asked.

"You haven't been here all night, or the night before. Where have you been sneaking off to?" His voice was accusatory; Hermione's hackles raised.

"None of your business. You're not my father, Ronald."

He at least had the good sense to look ashamed of himself. Reluctantly, she set her bookbag next to a chair and sat in it, turning to Harry. "Hello, Harry."

He barely contained his laughter. "Hello, 'Mione."

She sighed again. She really hated that nickname. "What are you working on?"

"Charms."

"Need any help?"

"Yeah, actually." He turned the book so they could both see it, and pointed to an instruction. "See here, on the Bubble-Head charm, it says—"

"I just want to know where you were. It's not like you to go wandering off."

Hermione deliberated for a moment. She didn't want to lie, but she didn't want to tell them about her lessons with Snape. She knew they'd give her hell about it. "I've been studying."

"Why don't you study here?"

"Because you won't leave me alone to do it, Ron!" she flapped her arms in exasperation. "Even now, I'm trying to help Harry, and you keep interrupting me!"

"Sorry, sorry. So—where d'you go?"

She wouldn't tell him about the Room of Requirement, either. "Oh, no. I'm not telling that. You'd traipse after me every time I tried to get a bit of quiet." Hermione turned back to Harry and continued their conversation; Ron got up, slamming his book shut, and stomped up to his dormitory.

"Drama king," she muttered under her breath.

~*~Tinder Heart~*~

In bed that night, Hermione read the manual that Professor Snape had given her. After a while, she lay back under the covers, breathing deeply to relax herself, as the manual told her to. Slowly, she began the exercises as instructed. Imagining the swirls of color at different points of her body, she focused on each one for about thirty seconds, imagining the way each brightened and ebbed, before turning to the next one. Afterward, she focused on clearing her mind completely. Before, she had cleared it except for the wall, concentrating on keeping it, building it better, improving it. Now she had to concentrate on not thinking, which was even harder than the book described. Even realizing she was succeeding and thinking, 'oh, I did it!' she would have to start all over again.

For what was supposed to be a relaxing technique, it quickly frustrated her, and she abruptly stopped, turning to her side away from the book. She hugged a pillow into her chest, trying to go to sleep. Her mind wandered, eventually, to Snape. She wondered how bad his childhood had to have been that he thought his life now was so much better. Sure, she loved being sixteen and able to pretty much do whatever she wanted with her time, and knowing so much was fantastic. But there were times, she'd freely admit, when she wished for nothing more than to be seven or eight again, able to curl up in her father's lap and feel that level of safety.

Was Snape's father abusive? That might explain his standoffishness. If he had been abused as a child, or his mother was abused, then that would certainly lead him not to trust other people. Anger welled in her chest at the image of boy-Severus cowering from his father. She forced herself to calm down—she didn't know if he was abused. His father could simply have been over-bearing and hateful of the wizarding world. It still made Hermione angry to think that he could act like that toward his child, but it was better than what she had been imagining.

During the past couple of weeks, Hermione had been able to get a glimpse into Snape's mind, figuratively speaking. What she had seen had challenged a lot of what she had thought about the Potions Master. He was polite—he always offered Hermione a seat and usually opened the door for her when she came in or left—today being the one of the few exceptions. He had even looked for a tissue for good while once when Hermione sneezed, finally giving up and conjuring one up for her. He was eager to get into an intelligent conversation, and though his words could be scathing, she'd found that often he meant no genuine disdain in his tone—most of the time it was simply how he was naturally.

She was even coming to some new conclusions about his appearance. Since he had given up teaching Potions, his fingers were becoming un-stained, though around his nails were still discolored, because he stocked Madame Pomfrey's stores. His hair, she had been close enough to see, wasn't entirely greasy. Yes, he did need to wash it more often, but his hair was also glossy-black, so shiny that even when it was clean it looked slightly oily. His teeth—well, there was no helping that without spells or orthodontia, but he didn't have bad breath, so it didn't bother her. She wondered what he would look like if he smiled a genuine smile…

Why was she thinking about Snape smiling? She shook her head to clear it of that train of thought. She rolled over to her other side, as if that side of the bed itself held the thoughts of Snape, and started counting doubles, trying to get to sleep.

One. Two. Four. Eight. Sixteen. Thirty-two…

~*~Tinder Heart~*~

September came and went, and soon Hermione found herself in-between Harry and Ron, walking down the path to Hogsmeade.

"It's so cold! Let's find somewhere warm quickly, my toes are going numb…"

Zonko's was boarded up; under different circumstances, Hermione wouldn't have minded that much. But she knew it had to do with the war, and so her mood was dimmed a bit by it.

They went to Honeyduke's for a bit—Hermione bought her father some flossing mints—and when Harry suggested the Three Broomsticks, she jumped at the chance.

There were a couple of men talking outside the shop. Hermione paid no notice, intent on the warmth that waited inside, until Harry called out, "Mundungus!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored him. She couldn't stand Mundungus. She kept her body angled away from Harry, Ron and Mundungus, until his shabby suitcase burst open, scattering grubby items into the street. Ron picked one up. "This looks familiar…"

Before she knew it, Harry had lunged at Mundungus, hand over his throat, pinning him to the wall.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. She looked around—it wouldn't do well to get into trouble here, in Hogsmeade. She listened, antsy, as Harry accused him of thieving Sirius'—now Harry's—house. When he turned blue, Hermione fretted again at him. With that look on his face, Hermione wouldn't be surprised if he killed Mundungus. She flinched as there was a loud BANG; Mundungus had thrown Harry off of him, grabbed his suitcase, and Disapparated.

Harry called after him, uselessly.

Tonks appeared out of nowhere, diffusing the situation. She persuaded them into the Three Broomsticks, where Ron and Hermione calmed Harry down.

"I'm going to tell Dumbledore what's going on, he's the only one who scares Mundungus."

Relieved, Hermione patted his hand on the table. "Good idea." She saw Ron was trying to peek around her. "Ron, what are you staring at?" she turned around to look.

"Nothing." His voice was pure guilt.

Rosmerta. Of course. Jealousy rose in her. Without even wanting to, she compared herself to the curvy barmaid. No one looked at _her_ that way. The jealousy made her angry. "I suppose _nothing's_ in the back getting more firewhisky."

Her eyes flashed, daring Ron to say something back. Her jealousy not only made her cross, but it made her defensive, too.

Finally, Harry suggested they go, and Hermione jumped at the opportunity, beyond eager to leave. She wanted to go to the Room of Requirement and diffuse her anger.

It was a while up the path before she realized that they were following Katie Bell and her friend, who seemed to be having an argument. Still lost in her resentful haze, she didn't catch anything of their conversation, until Katie rose into the air before them. Hermione gasped in shock.

Katie was suspended, arms outstretched, hair waving wildly in the wind, for a few seconds, before she opened her eyes, seeing something they could not see. She opened her mouth and a terrible scream came from her mouth. Her friend, Harry, Ron and Hermione tried to pull her down; Katie landed on top of Ron and Harry, still screaming and thrashing. Harry yelled he was going for help. He sprinted away.

"What should we do?" Ron called over the wind.

Hermione thought quickly. A girl in her primary school had seizures. Her teachers had been trained in seizure protocol, and she tried to remember what they had done for her. Hermione took off her outer cloak, bunched it up, and stuffed it under Katie's head. "Don't hold her still. Make sure she doesn't hit anything like a rock or hurt herself, but don't try to hold her down, either. And don't get your hand near her mouth." Hermione touched Katie's forehead; she seemed to be burning up with fever. Hermione petted Katie's head. "It'll be all right, Katie. Don't worry, we've got you. Harry's getting help, it'll be all right." The words were empty.

Harry returned shortly with Hagrid, who scooped up Katie and hurtled off toward the castle. Katie's screams died away. Hermione picked her cloak back up off the ground and came around to Katie's friend.

"It's Leanne, isn't it?" she asked as she put her cloak back on. It was cold from the ground. The girl nodded. "Did this happen all of a sudden, or—?"

Leanne pointed to the package, saying it started when it had torn open. Ron and Harry examined it. Harry said something Hermione couldn't make out over the wind. He came over to Leanne and said, "How did Katie get hold of this?"

"Well, that's why we were arguing. She came back from the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks holding it, said it was a surprise for somebody at Hogwarts and she had to deliver it. She looked all funny when she said it… Oh no, oh no, I bet she'd been Imperiused and I didn't realize!"

They all headed up to the school, Leanne sobbing and hiccupping every now and then. Hermione heard Harry accusing Malfoy, but was only half-listening, trying to comfort Leanne.

McGonagall met them, and entrusted the package to Filch. The four of them followed her to her office, where they explained what had happened. Professor McGonagall sent Leanne to the hospital wing and asked for more information from the three of them.

Hermione listened to Harry as he accused Malfoy. She inwardly rolled her eyes. How long would this feud last between the two of them?

Hermione got involved, and it finally erupted into an argument between Ron, Harry and Hermione. They forgot the Professor was in the room until she had had enough and snapped at them.

"That's enough! Potter, I appreciate you telling me this, but we cannot point the finger of blame at Mr. Malfoy purely because he visited the shop where this necklace might have been purchased. The same is probably true of hundreds of people and in any case, we have put stringent security measures in place this year. I do not believe that necklace can possibly have entered this school without our knowledge —"

"But —"

"— and what is more, Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today."

Professor McGonagall ushered them out of the room. They were still arguing once they were in the Common Room. When Hermione finally got up to her dormitory, she was exhausted, and more than a little irritated with Harry. When would he end this stupid war with Malfoy and just act like an adult, not a child?

~*~Tinder Heart~*~

The next afternoon at lunch, a raven swooped down in front of Hermione. A piece of parchment was in her beak.

"Hello," she said, surprised. The giant bird dropped the parchment in front of Hermione, but didn't leave.

"Whose bird is that?" Ron asked.

"No idea." She opened the parchment. In loopy cursive it said, _There has been a change in my schedule. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, from eight until ten. If needed, I will provide an after-curfew pass. Send your answer. Don't try to pet Camille, she bites. –Professor Snape._

Damn. It was Monday, so that meant tonight. She wasn't prepared; she hadn't practiced the night before, what with all of the events of the Hogsmeade trip.

"What's it say?" Ron tried to peer over her shoulder, but Hermione folded the letter in half and stuffed it into her pocket.

"Nothing of your concern." She reached into her bag and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. She responded in the affirmative and handed the letter to the raven, being careful of her fingers. The big bird leant forward and quickly snapped something in her hair. It was a bit of Snargaluff Pod from Herbology that morning. Then the bird—Camille, Hermione guessed—snapped the note from Hermione's fingers and took off. Hermione looked toward the High Table, but Professor Snape wasn't there.

During her free period, instead of studying, Hermione lay in bed and practiced clearing her mind again. She got as far as eleven seconds, which was pretty good. Not her best, but still decent. She hoped he wouldn't notice she wasn't as far along as they both hoped she would be.

She crept down the stairs at a quarter to eight that night, but was unsuccessful in avoiding her friends.

"Hermione! Come over here!" It was Lavender calling and waving her over. Hermione strode over and smiled at Lavender and Parvati.

"Hello. What do you need?"

"I had a question."

"Hmm?"

"Are you and Ron—I mean, are you two together?"

Hermione blinked.

"No."

"Oh."

"Why?"

"I just, I've seen you two together so much and he seems to like you, and I didn't know if you liked him, so I was just…would you mind if I asked him out?"

Lavender was much more Ron's type than Hermione, that was for sure. She was curvy and flashy, and Hermione was—well, Hermione. She wasn't very interested in Ron like that, but she still felt jealousy flare up like acid in her throat. She forced a smile. "Do what you want, Lavender. I have to go, I'm late. Good night." Without waiting for a reply, Hermione turned on her heel and left, ignoring Ron's calls after her.

"You're late," was the only thing Professor Snape said as Hermione slipped quietly in the door.

"I know, I'm so sorry, Professor. It won't happen again, I promise."

"It had better not. My time is valuable, Miss Granger and I do not appreciate your wasting it."

"I know it is, Professor, I apologize, but have I ever been late before? In these sessions or in class?" She surprised herself with her boldness. She braced herself for the anger.

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow, but Hermione couldn't tell if he was irritated or not. "Five points, Miss Granger. Let's get started."

She couldn't tell if it was to or from Gryffindor, but kept her mouth shut.

"Let's see how you've gotten along."

Hermione stood opposite her teacher, took a deep breath, and relaxed herself. She focused for a few seconds on not thinking, then opened her eyes to meet the deep liquid-black of Snape's eyes. After a few seconds she felt him at the back of her mind, deconstructing her shields once again. She tried shifting his own consciousness around hers, forming the two around each other like a dance. She saw his eye twitch in concentration. 'I wonder if I can look into his mind,' she thought, but decided against it. For now, anyway.

Hermione began to sweat and her fingers itched to pull her cloak off, to cool down.

Once, he almost got past her wall. She gave a warning flare of energy out, threatening to drop him back on his arse. His mouth cricked up in a smirk, and he tried again and again in the same technique.

She lasted a full twenty-four minutes before he gained access into her memories using the same process. He searched through her mind and found a flash of his own face—he pursued that. To her horror, Hermione found herself in fourth year, standing in the dungeons corridor with her classmates and Snape, both hands clasped over her mouth as her teeth grew past her chin. She heard again Snape's cruel words and the laughter of her classmates as she ran away. Remembered how by the time she had made it to the hospital wing, they had caught and drawn blood from her left breast.

Professor Snape pulled from her mind. He seemed agitated. Hermione stood silent and rigid, afraid to breathe. Wordlessly, he moved the furniture around the room and went to the office door. In a quiet voice, he said, "I believe that's all for tonight, Miss Granger. You may be excused. I shall see you Wednesday."

Hermione stared at the floor in embarrassment, counting cracks in the stone, as she left the room. Why did he have to see _that_ memory? It had been horrible enough the first time it had happened. The re-living of it was mortifying, especially the parts he didn't know happen in the first place. He didn't need to know how her teeth had cut herself. Especially _there_.

All she wanted was a shower and bed. She wouldn't study tonight. Hell, she probably wouldn't even do her mind exercises tonight.

She did, however, pause at the bulletin by the portrait-hole.

_Gryffindor,_ it read, _plus five points from Severus Snape, earned by Hermione Granger._

~*~Tinder Heart~*~

**Leave me some love! See you next time!**


End file.
